In Life and Death
by Lieutenant Leah
Summary: "I'm me again. Or at least...I know I'm me, but I don't remember being me, I don't know what 'me' MEANS." Melissa Smith was dead. And then she wasn't. On top of figuring out why she came back, alongside the approaching Biblical apocalypse, something sinister is on the horizon. ATTN: on hiatus, may return. If I do...AU!
1. 1 In the Instance of Insanity

I'm me again. Or at least...I know I'm me, but I don't remember being me, I don't know what 'me' _means_.

I realize I'm laying down on cold concrete, so I sit up. I'm in an old warehouse; the building is dilapidated and abandoned, random broken machinery is strewn about. To my immediate right is Sam, kneeling down next to me. I don't remember how I got here or why we're here.

"Mel?" Sam asks tentatively. There are tear tracks on his face, and his eyes are red, but both those traits don't match his facial expression. He looks scared, staring at me as if I'm a ticking time bomb.

"What's with the look?" I mumble grumpily, frowning. There's a strong feeling in my gut, a feeling of _wanting to get away_. Is that the human fight or flight response, or is that some of my old personality? I don't know why that thought floats through my consciousness, but thinking about that brings with it the feeling of a headache coming on, so I push it aside. I need to focus on the present; how did I get here, and what the hell happened to me?

The last thing I remember was...driving. I was driving? Yeah, something important, maybe, I had to be someplace. It was...important.

"How do you feel?"

I shush him, squeezing my eyes shut and putting my head in my hands. I can't focus, can't think. Everything's too jumbled. Up is the ceiling, down is the floor, Sam is to my right.

My name is Elijah. No, Melissa?

Yes, I go by Melissa now. Do I?

"Is my name Melissa?" I ask; I need confirmation that I'm not just going crazy. There's so much confusion, so much chaos in my head. Am I human? No, that can't be right. I _was_ human. I was, I know it. I ate and slept and _bled_. I broke an ankle three years ago, I almost died when the semi hit the car. But now...I feel different. My body doesn't feel like a real body, and I still feel emotion but it's...distant. Like I have to focus and put effort into it. I open my eyes and look up at Sam, because he hasn't answered my question. "Sam, please. I feel like I'm losing my mind. _Is my name Melissa_?"

He nods his head once. "Yes, it is."

I breathe a sigh of relief, because _I'm not crazy_. At least...not about that part. But Sam doesn't know about the other name bouncing around in my skull.

"What..." My mouth is suddenly dry. I swallow, as if that would help make the dryness go away. "What happened to me?"

"You, uh..." Sam looks hesitant, scared.

"Sam," I say, frustrated. "What. Happened?"

"You died." I jump, and twist around to the source of the voice. It takes me a moment to recognize Ruby; she's wearing a different meatsuit, the brunette one, and I'm still getting used to it.

But wait a second and hold the phone.

"Ruby!" Sam manages to scold her with that one word.

Ruby looks completely shameless. "What? Someone had to tell her without tip-toeing around it!"

"And you couldn't have been gentler about it?"

"She's not even human anymore, Sam!"

"Guys!" I interrupt, desperately ignoring that last comment from the demon, because _holy shit did I actually die_?

A light above us flickers slightly; did I do that? Ruby said I wasn't human anymore. I shudder, hating to think of what I am now.

"You're okay now," Sam says, rubbing my back, but he's wrong. I'm not okay.

"No, Sam. If...if Ruby's right, if I'm not - " I can feel tears about to well in my eyes, and I suppress them. I _don't_ need to cry right now. "I need to be put down."

That's how hunters work. If they become one of the things they hunt, being dead will save a whole lot of lives.

I don't even know why this had happened, or how. I just know the outcome.

"What? No!" Sam's having none of it. Okay, then.

I push him away and move to stand up. He tries to stop me, but I feel fine. There's a huge blood stain down the front of my shirt, and a gaping hole to go with it, but the skin underneath is unblemished. I certainly don't feel like I just died five minutes ago, and I'm able to stand on my own two feet without a problem.

"Ruby," I address the demon, looking her in the eyes. I don't even have to say it out loud; she knows what I want her to do.

But she shakes her head. "No. I can't," she says, and it's not because she doesn't want to, but I realize she means she literally _can't_ kill me. Is it out of fear? Or is it something else? "I don't know what you are, but, whatever it is, it's _not_ good."

That's how this is gonna be, huh?

"So, what, you both are just a bunch of pussys now?" I challenge, because _really_? This just needs to be done and over with. I don't want to live like a monster; I don't want to _be_ a monster.

Ruby's eyes darken, not to their demon black but in a much more figurative sense. Without saying a word, she draws her knife, swiftly approaches me ("Ruby, no, don't!" says Sam, tries to hold her back, to stop her, but he's too late), and stabs me in the heart.

It doesn't hurt.

I stare down at the hilt, the knife still stuck in my chest. No blood is pooling and welling out. I'm still breathing, still standing.

"I'm not a pussy," Ruby says. "I _can't_ kill you."

I grab the knife and, in a disconnect of reality, yank it out. That doesn't hurt either. "Point taken."

Ruby yanks her knife from my grasp. "Now that that's taken care of, we need to get moving. I don't want to be here when whoever, or _what_ ever, killed you comes back."

She walks in the direction of what I assume to be the exit of this place. I watch her until she turns the corner and I'm unable to see her any longer.

"Mel," Sam says softly.

"What?" I reply, voice flat; it sounds more like a demand than a question.

"You gonna be okay?"

I sigh. Am I? "I dunno. I don't wanna talk about it."

~8~

My car is outside the warehouse, yet I have absolutely no memory of parking it there. The last thing I remember, without having to think too hard, is eating supper at a Subway by myself. I was sitting in the corner by the windows, looking out at the sunset, waiting for a phone call.

Judging by the dawning rays of sunlight, that meal had been at least 12 hours ago. So does that mean I'd been dead for half a day, or had I been up to something not good and the "something" backfired?

Good grief, why does my memory have to be all fucked?

As I approach my car, I reach into my pocket for the keys and come up empty. They're not in my pockets. I sigh, and look in the window to make sure I didn't do what I think I did and, _yes_ , I left them in the car like a dumbass. Helplessly, I yank on the handle and try to open it, knowing I'm going to have to break in. I fall on my ass and it takes me a second to realize that I'd yanked the door open, the momentum sending me to the ground.

I'd left it unlocked. Why would I do that?

I don't want to think about that. I may end up overthinking it or, worse, I may actually come up with a plausible reason. Coming up with a plausible reason for my carelessness is scary.

So I get in my car, start it, and drive away. I should get back home so I can pull my shit together.

I drive towards the closest patch of light pollution and not five minutes later there's a sign reading "Pontiac, Pop. 11,975." Seems like a good enough place to stop, look at a map, eat a little something, fill up the gas tank.

I don't have to go far, because my wish is granted by a tiny little gas station just outside of town. I pull up next to a pump, stop the car, get out. The area around is nothing but grassy fields, and, to be honest, the place looks like it's going out of business. Even the sign on the door says "closed." Oh, well. They're going out of business, might as well get robbed in the process. That's also good, because then I don't have to explain the blood.

I start up the gas pump and let it run; it will stop automatically when the tank's full. There's a magazine rack outside and I walk over to it, really hoping to get lucky and _yes_ I got lucky. "Free maps" is what the sign says. Man, the owner must be losing hope. Rifling through them, I get lucky yet again and manage to find an Illinois-Indiana-Southern Michigan-area one.

It takes awhile to find Pontiac on the map but, once I do, I can see I'm not far from home. Weird. What did I go all the way from Michigan to Illinois to do?

Another thought strikes me, as I'm walking back to the gas pump. How did Sam know where to find me? Did we team up on a hunt gone wrong? Maybe I should call him...

No. No, I won't call Sam. The only reason he was there was because I'd asked him to be, most likely. I haven't talked to either him or Bobby in almost two years, and going back into radio silence is the best thing for everyone.

~8~

When I get home, I'm dead tired. I feel like I could sleep for a week, which is weird considering I was dead barely four hours ago. One would think I'd have boundless energy, or something. But I don't, so I change into sweatpants, grab a bag of chips, and crash on the couch for a few hours.

After the chips are gone and I've had a nap, it's late into the afternoon. It finally hits me that I had been _dead_. There should have been no coming back from that, yet here I am, and I honestly don't know whether to feel relieved or terrified. And that's _without_ considering my no longer being human.

I'm starting to feel the mounting dread of what I've become. One thing is clear, and it is that I need to find away to kill myself. I grimace at the thought because I've never been suicidal before, and suicide isn't really how I want to die. To be perfectly honest, I've always imagined I'd go down fighting hunting some fugly. However, none of that matters now, because I'll die by my own hand; whether I'm comfortable about it or not is irrelevant.

I'm just hoping that what I've become is actually killable. If it isn't, I'm fucked.

* * *

 **So it's been awhile since I've posted a fic on here. Went through that terrible writer's block phase, and I'm _just_ now breaking out of it. If you followed my other fic _Falling_ (let's be honest, that thing was crap and you didn't), this is a complete clean slate rewrite of it.**

 **Any type of feedback is much appreciated, so leave a review and let me know what you think! *heart***


	2. 2 The Dead Shall Rise

I feel like I'm going crazy. In my dreams, I see an empty blackness that never ends; an endless void. Nothing takes shape there, but I can hear distant calls for help and screams of agony. Sometimes I'll hear intelligible words; screams for help, crying of those who are lost. There's an instinct in me that wants to help them, but another part of me wants to run away from the screams to where it's quiet.

It's a whole different story when I'm awake.

When I'm awake, voices still assault me from time to time, but I found out early on I can block them out. Sometimes, in the corner of my eye, I see things. But when I turn to look, nothing's there. That, unfortunately, is something I've not been able to ignore yet.

I also don't sleep as much as I used to, which worries me, and it has nothing to do with the nightmares. Ever since I died two weeks ago, I've been getting two, maybe three, hours of sleep a night. Now and then I'm lucky to even get one hour.

That doesn't even cover the weirdest part.

Yesterday, when I was cutting veggies for soup, I cut my finger off. And I'm not just talking about the tip of my finger, I'm talking halfway to the _knuckle_. Just the entire finger - completely gone. I panicked for a bit, grabbed a towel to immediately staunch the flow of blood, until I realized that it didn't hurt and no blood was spurting dangerously. Actually, there wasn't _any_ blood, just like when Ruby stabbed me.

So I dropped the towel and picked up my severed finger, studied it some, then thought _fuck it_ and held it to where it's supposed to be. Because if I can't die, can't bleed, can no longer feel any pain, then shouldn't my finger be able to reattach itself?

Once I thought those words, my finger did indeed reattach itself.

That's how I've come to the conclusion that I'm basically Wolverine. No metal claws yet, but the hope is very real.

In all seriousness, however, between the weird visions and dreams, I'm starting to really wonder what the hell I turned into. I've researched into it a little; unfortunately, the only possible candidate I've come up with so far is banshee. Thankfully, I haven't felt the urge to scream people to death.

...Yet.

~8~

I'm running on the treadmill when Bobby calls. I don't answer, because one: Bobby disrespects me and never gives me a call; and two: I respect Bobby enough to know he is begrudgingly calling me against his will, and he'll feel better about our now love/hate relationship if I don't answer. I let it ring through, and keep on running; I've been testing myself to see if I'll get tired out and so far I'm still going strong at a full sprint after an hour.

But then my phone rings again, and one look at the caller I.D. says it's Bobby. And...he wouldn't call me twice in a row unless it was earth-shatteringly important. So, I shut down the treadmill and answer the call.

"This better be good," I tell him, stepping down from the machine.

"'Sides me, 's'anyone called you today?"

"No?" The silent question of "why would someone call me at 8:00 in the morning" is a bit obvious. "What, you wanna micromanage my social life now?"

"No, ya idjit," Bobby grumbles. He's silent for a moment before heaving a sigh. "Someone called a few minutes ago; claimed to be Dean."

Oh. Well... "Bobby, even if it _was_ Dean," I say, but both Bobby and I know Dean's never coming back, "I got a new phone number a couple weeks ago. It's unlisted; whoever it was can't get ahold of me."

Bobby sighs again. "Alright. If ya _do_ hear anything, ya know where to reach me."

He hangs up without further ado.

So someone was claiming to be Dean, back from the dead. I don't really know how to feel about that. On one hand, I'm just the pillar of numbness I've been since I came back from the dead. On the other hand, some small part of me, in the back of my head, feels just enough of the grief I felt when Dean died. That little sliver of feeling is enough to get me to sit down, and take a deep breath in an attempt to stop myself from crying.

It's an annoying human reaction that I just can't shake away. But I'm not human anymore, I'm a monster, and _monsters aren't supposed to cry_. Monsters are soulless entities incapable of emotion. So why do I still grieve for my best friend?

I can't afford to have a self-pity party right now. No, I have to go about my day, figure out what I am, and figure out how to end it. I don't want to live as a monster any longer than I have to.

~8~

' _A ghoul has many powers like regeneration, shape-shifting and paralyzing touch. As light can harm a ghoul, they tend to avoid it. To kill it you must use fire, acid, lightning, or decapitation. It is also claimed by bite that a human or person can be turned into a ghoul themselves, including other species of monster or creature._ '

~8~

It's been two weeks since I've died, but only now have I really confronted the issue of me. The day after returning home, I'd cleared the garage out of anything important, planning on getting to the research-and-kill routine immediately. The garage was separate from the cabin, and also had a concrete floor. My plan is, if anything were to get out of hand, that at least the damage won't be too bad.

I've been putting it off for too long, and today I'm going to start. I'm going to focus all my energy on what I am and how I can die.

So why am I stood in the middle of the room like an idiot? Why am I hesitating?

"Get a hold of yourself, Smith," I mumble, staring at the many deadly items on the table in front of me. A pistol, a silver knife, a gas can with matches nearby, and other assorted deadly items. On a shelf to the right is my laptop, Google up and ready for the molestation of folklore.

I inhale deeply and count to five before releasing the breath. Then, I reach for the gun.

~8~

' _A weapon of pure gold can kill a banshee. Just being slashed with a golden weapon hurts it_.'

~8~

At first, when I fire the gun, I'm pretty sure I missed. Which is impossible, considering the fact that missing a point-blank shot to the head is, well, _impossible_.

But after the ringing in my ears dies down, I take a look around. I almost scream at the sight behind me, but I manage to keep it down to a barely audible gasp. The previously white wall is now covered in splatter. Upon closer inspection, I find grey matter, blood, bits of _bone_. I can also see where the silver bullet went, lodged in a small hole in the wall. I feel the back of my head, but no wound of any kind is present; it must have healed instantly.

I shudder, and find myself unable to tear my eyes away from the mess. Some part of me is grateful that I'm still alive. My human side, the remnant of my old life that refuses to go away, is screaming, "You should be _dead_! _This isn't normal_!" That almost makes me want to give up right this instant, but I can't. No, I have to force that human side away and lock it up so it won't interfere.

I know I'm successful the instant I feel that same cold detachment I felt when I first came back to life; emotions are distant, like I have to put an effort into feeling them. I latch onto that feeling, embrace it, because I know I won't get very far if my pathetic humanity is repeatedly interfering.

I grimace as I look away from the wall, dreading to dirty it even more, and replace the silver bullet mag with an iron bullet one. I don't hesitate before pulling the trigger.

~8~

' _Shooting or stabbing a ghost with iron will temporarily make the ghost disappear. Ghosts also can't cross iron, much like demons. If a person possessed by a spirit touches something made of pure iron, the spirit will be forced out of the human_.'

~8~

Bullets are ineffective, as are silver knives, iron, and gold. Unfortunately, that also means I've ruled out pretty much every run-of-the-mill monster out there. To be honest, I'd say I'm a demon, now, if I didn't know any better. Ruby had been right, though. Whatever I am seems, so far, to be unkillable.

That's really annoying.

There _is_ one thing I haven't tried yet: decapitation. Unfortunately, I'm by myself and decapitation is pretty difficult to accomplish by oneself. I look around the garage, and, for real, I'm _really_ wishing for a bandsaw right about now.

Unless...yes, rigging the garage door might actually work. And I actually have to rig it, so it goes down on my neck quickly. The slow descent of closing the door with a remote just won't cut it. Grimacing at the unintended (and terrible) pun, I go to work.

Unfortunately, I don't know much about how garage doors work. It takes a bit of guessing before I actually manage to break the door in a way that let's it be manually opened and closed with ease. I then attach a 50 foot rope to the bottom handle of the door, loop it around a ceiling beam across the garage, and pull it back towards the front of the room. It's my own make-shift pulley system.

First, I should test it to make sure it works. I let go of the rope and - the door slams back to the ground with resounding _bang!_ \- yeah, yeah it definitely works.

I hoist the garage door back up with the rope and get into a suitable position on the ground. I have to be sure I'm in the right spot, because otherwise I'll cut off too much or too little. Can't have _that_ happen.

But now I'm in a good spot, and I'm hesitating. _Why_ am I hesitating? Gritting my teeth, I push down the human emotions, close my eyes firmly shut, and let go of the rope.

The sound of the door falling reaches my ears, and I tense up in anticipation. But...I don't feel a thing. Squinting an eye open, I see that the garage door only made it a few feet down before being stopped...by...

"Just what do you think you're doing?" says the Indian man in a very Indian accent.

"Holy shit!" I panic; there's no beating the bush around that one.

I scramble to get up and away, maybe to go get a weapon or...something. I don't know much about my sudden situation, but what I _do_ know is that this guy _appeared out of thin air_. It also doesn't help that he's holding the garage door up with only a couple of damn _fingers_. I get across the room swiftly enough, and grab the first weapon I see - my shotgun.

The man tsks and steps inside the garage, letting the door slam closed behind him. "Decapitation? Really? Very messy, even for you."

I hold the shotgun up, ready to fire if I need to. "Who are you?" I demand, trying to sound more brave than I am. He already caught me in the act of attempted suicide; he does _not_ need to know that the only ammo in this gun is rock salt.

The man, no, _monster_ , shakes his head and let's out a short huff. "Right to business. So unlike you. Usually, you waste time, try to jest your way out of a situation."

He's not wrong, but he's also...not exactly right. I won't rise to the bait. I pump the shotgun. "Answer the damn question."

He furrows his brows. "Do you truly not know me?"

Huh? What's he playing at? "Buddy, you're not the first person to ask me that," I say, Yellow-Eyes coming to mind.

Something in the man changes. I don't know if it's his posture, or mannerisms, or _whatever_ , but he's looking at me differently. He's studying me, and I might as well take this grand opportunity to study him.

Standing only a few inches taller than me, he's dressed in an expensive-looking grey three piece suit, arms down at his sides. He has unruly dark curls that look somewhat tamed, and on his left wrist there's a bracelet made of dark beads. The way he's standing, plus the look in his eyes, screams "I'm not human!" I would say demon, but there's no sulfur smell. He almost has this, I dunno, ethereal look to him.

He starts speaking again, begins walking closer to me, and I force myself to pay attention. "If you truly do not remember who I am, then perhaps I should introduce myself." He holds out a hand, completely ignoring the shotgun I'm still holding. "You may call me Benjamin."

* * *

 **Think you for reading! Please leave a review and let me know what you think; any feedback is much appreciated! *heart***

 **Next chapter will be uploaded next Wednesday at around 6:00-8:00pm CT.**


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